“It will give me the greatest pleasure in the world, Your Highness.” She gave him her hand and he led her onto the floor.
When the gavotte was over, Gloucester returned her to Montgomery, who partnered her in a courante, her favorite dance. After that, she left him to his own devices. She knew he preferred talking with the men to dancing with the ladies.
Velvet greeted Barbara. “You are absolutely glowing tonight. Isn’t it exciting that the theatres are opening again? I’ve never seen a play, but I’m certainly looking forward to it.”
Barbara was wearing her new diamond necklace to help hold up her head. “When His Majesty granted a patent to Killigrew to form the King’s Players, he stipulated that henceforth only women be allowed to play women’s roles.”
“Charles considers actresses such harmless delights.” Buckingham deliberately pricked Barbara with his barb.
She jabbed him with her fan in retaliation. “Velvet, have you met my dear friend Lady Arlington? Her husband, Henry Bennet, has just been named secretary of state.”
As the two ladies exchanged pleasantries, Barbara smiled at Buckingham and wafted her fan toward a liveried footman. “Would you be a darling, George, and get me a glass of that new champagne wine? I’m told it’s excellent for settling a belly that’s in a delicate condition.” She smiled archly at Lady Arlington, knowing she would spread the word to the Court.
Velvet opened her fan and lowered her lashes.
If Barbara is having a child, who is the father?
“Good evening, Lady Montgomery. Your gown is so pretty.”
Velvet turned to see Mary Butler, and introduced the Duke of Ormonde’s young daughter to Barbara. From the tail of her eye Velvet saw Lord Cav approaching and she stiffened.
He ignored Velvet and bowed before Mary Butler. “May I partner you in the dance, Lady Mary?”
She blushed. “It would be my pleasure, Lord Cavendish.”
“Hell and furies,” Velvet muttered as he led the girl away.
“Your kinsman is exceedingly handsome,” Barbara drawled.
“He’s dissolute!” Velvet hissed.
“Really? Lucky Lady Mary.”
“She’s only fifteen,” Velvet protested.
Barbara sipped her champagne. “Lucky Lord Cav.”
When the dance was over, Velvet approached Will Cavendish and voiced her disapproval. “Mary Butler is an innocent maiden.”
“I wouldn’t be interested otherwise,” he declared.
“I won’t allow you to corrupt her.”
“My intentions are honorable. She is a duke’s daughter.”
“Marriage?” Velvet gasped, imagining how utterly miserable young Mary’s life would become, married to this lecherous lout.
His cold blue eyes glittered with malice. “You wed for rank and property. Don’t begrudge me, you two-faced little bitch.”
Velvet was outraged at his accusation. “I shall have a word with her father about you.”
“If I see you speak to the Duke of Ormonde, I shall spread it about the Court that you shared my bed. If you utter one word against me, I will make you rue the day,” he threatened.
As she watched him saunter away, fury and frustration made her tremble. Her first instinct was to go to her husband. Greysteel would protect her against all threats from any source. With a sinking heart, she realized she couldn’t tell him, lest he believe the lies. Then Greysteel might kill the lout. Her glance swept the chamber until she located her husband. He was conversing with none other than the Duke of Ormonde and Velvet knew if she joined them, the vindictive swine would retaliate.
During the next hour, Cavendish partnered Mary Butler three times and Velvet’s apprehension for the young girl mounted. She accepted a glass of champagne and sipped it to quell her fears and frustration. By the time she drained the glass, her courage had returned.
I’ll be damned if I’ll allow Lord Bloody Cav to thwart me!
Velvet slowly traversed the chamber until she reached the side of King Charles, who was standing just inside the ornate doors. She went down into a graceful curtsy before him. Charles bowed gallantly and raised her fingers to his lips. She stood on tiptoe and, using her fan to shield her words from those close by, whispered her concern for Mary Butler.
His smile was sardonic as he bent to murmur, “And how do you know young Cavendish is a notorious womanizer?”
“He tried to ravish me, Sire!”
Unknown to Velvet, two pairs of eyes watched her every move. The first pair belonged to Will Cavendish, who immediately suspected that he was the subject of her furtive conversation with the king. A thirst for revenge almost choked him.
The second pair of eyes belonged to Montgomery, who immediately suspected secret dalliance was the reason for the hurried whispers. Jealousy almost choked him.
Charles took Velvet’s hand and led her through the doors, where they could be more private. “I’m honored you confided in me, Velvet. Your protective instinct toward the young lady is commendable. I’ll drop Ormonde a word to the wise.”
“Thank you, Sire. You have put my fears to rest.”
“I was looking for Barbara. I suspect she’s in the gaming room.” He bowed. “By your leave, my lady.”
She sighed at his gallantry and returned to the chamber. When she saw Greysteel talking with the king’s brothers, James and Henry, she joined them. They were discussing the pools that the king had ordered dug in St. James’s Park.
“The ponds will all be connected like a chain when they are finished,” James explained to his younger brother, Gloucester.
“But won’t they become stagnant?” Henry asked.
“No, they’ll be fed by the Thames and flow continually so they can be stocked with fish,” Greysteel explained.
Henry saw Velvet and lost interest in the fishponds. “Lady Montgomery, your humble servant. I cannot believe you are without a partner for the next dance.”
“My wife is about to retire.” Montgomery’s tone was implacable.
Velvet couldn’t believe her husband’s rudeness. She gave the young prince an enchanting smile. “I hope you had a happy birthday, Your Highness.”
“Promise you will allow me to partner you tomorrow night?”
“It will give me the greatest pleasure in the world, Your Highness.” She swept Henry and James a curtsy.
Before she could say good night, Greysteel nodded to the king’s brothers, clamped his fingers around her wrist and took her from the chamber.
“What the devil is the matter with you?” She glanced at his face and saw that it had a dark, closed look.
He didn’t speak until they were in their own rooms. He released her wrist, paced across the chamber, then turned and glared at her. “Is there no end to your conquests, madam?”
A bubble of laughter escaped her lips. “Gloucester?” It was preposterous. A virile man like Montgomery could not be jealous of the king’s young brother. There was only one male in the world who could arouse his jealousy.
Oh, God, he saw me whispering with Charles!
“It seems you have a
flagrant fondness
for Stuarts.”
“If you are referring to His Majesty, he asked me if I’d seen Barbara and I took him next door to the gaming room,” she improvised quickly. “He is obsessed with her.”
“Barbara’s a whore,” he said with contempt.
“There is no shame in being mistress to the king.”
“Why? Because a royal whore sets a higher price on her sexual favors?”
“Barbara is having a child. I warrant it’s the king’s, since she’s proud as a peacock.”
“A peahen,” he corrected as his anger toward Velvet began to evaporate. “Perhaps I’ll take you away from Court for a while.”
“Greysteel, you know how much I adore Roehampton, but please let’s not go just yet. The theatres are about to open and I’m simply dying to attend the play!”
“I’ll take you to the theatre early next week,” he promised.
“Thank you, darling.” Velvet knew the storm clouds had almost dispersed. She was learning to handle her dominant husband, born under the sign of the Ram. Instead of flying at him, accusing him of spying on her and being possessive as a dog with a bone, she soothed him with soft words. All she had to do now was take him to bed. She shivered with anticipation.
Velvet was too wise to try to make love to Greysteel. He was too dominant to take the passive role, even in lovemaking. Especially in lovemaking. He took the lead in the mating dance and she followed. He was the seducer; she, the one seduced. Greysteel was the conqueror; Velvet yielded to all his demands.
Much later, when her frenzied cries had quieted and his fierce needs had been satisfied, she drifted into sleep, safe and warm against his powerful body. Velvet began to dream:
She was climbing the staircase that led to the king’s private chambers. She knew he was waiting for her, but somehow she had forgotten about time and now she was late. She tucked her astrology book beneath her arm and began to hurry. Though she climbed higher and higher, the steps went on and on and she began to fear that she would never reach him. It grew dark and the panic inside engulfed her. All of a sudden her hand reached out and touched a door. It opened and there was the king, bathed in a silvery light that flooded the darkness.
“Charles!” She felt his powerful arms about her and pressed her face against his heart.
Greysteel went rigid and looked down at his sleeping wife in horror. It was obvious she dreamed she was in Charles’s arms. He withdrew from her stiffly, but she didn’t awaken.
The king pulled away from her and turned toward two other women who stood behind him. One was Barbara with a baby in her arms. The other was his queen, wearing a golden crown. “I have no time for you, Velvet. We can no longer be friends.”
As he abandoned her, her cry was heartrending. “Charles!”
Greysteel quit the bed. He bit down on a foul oath and left the chamber. He paced across the sitting room, fighting the urge to smash something. He kicked a chair savagely and the leather split open and the stuffing spewed out. His eye fell on a pair of decanters. He pushed aside the wine and reached for the whiskey. He dismissed the idea of using a glass; his vengeful hand would crush it to smithereens. He carried the decanter to the window and stared out into the night with unseeing eyes as he lifted the whiskey to his mouth and tipped it up.
His guts roiled and burned with red-hot fury, yet he welcomed it, clung to it, for once it subsided, the pain would begin. His iron will kept his thoughts at bay while he concentrated on swallowing, yet he knew they were there, slithering like serpents waiting to sink in their fangs and poison his mind.
He stood at the window long after the decanter was empty. Finally, he went into the dressing room and stretched out on the daybed. His arm lay across his eyes as if he were attempting to keep out visions that would threaten his sanity.
Insistent thoughts gradually penetrated through his defensive shield. In the deep recesses of his brain he knew that the king had not lain with Velvet; to Charles she was a childhood friend. Why, then, did he have this raging jealousy? Greysteel knew the answer, had always known it. Tonight he would face it squarely.
Since the day of their betrothal Velvet had compared him unfavorably with Charles Stuart. When she was a child, she had become infatuated by a prince, and over the years of their mutual exile, her every wish, every dream, had been focused on Charles becoming King of England. He had become an obsession, overshadowing everything and everyone else.
Though Greysteel had coerced her to wed him, he knew that Velvet did not regret the marriage. Not only was she proud to be the wife of the Earl of Eglinton; she was highly attracted to him physically. But she did not
love
him. Even worse than that, she imagined herself in love with Charles. Greysteel knew he could not go on this way. He had far too much masculine pride to tolerate being anything but first and always in Velvet’s heart and soul. If she was not willing to give him everything, then perversely Greysteel wanted nothing.
In the morning when Velvet awoke, her husband had already left. She had slept later than usual and the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. Greysteel, always considerate, had been careful not to disturb her.
Christian came to Whitehall to join her for lunch, and then the two of them were going shopping at the New Exchange in the Strand. “I’m looking forward to our excursion. I haven’t been into London for weeks,” Velvet declared.
“Oh, darling, you won’t recognize the town. Everything has been transformed. Of course the cobble-stoned streets are still lined with decaying buildings that have stood rotting for centuries, but now there is a tavern on every corner called the King’s Head or the King’s Cock—oh, no, that was a brothel.”
Velvet laughed at her droll wit. “No more religious fanatics preaching hellfire and brimstone?”
“I swear the same men stand on the same corners, but instead of trying to convert you with a religious treatise, they are trying to corrupt you with perverted poems, a penny a page!”
“I cannot wait to be corrupted. Lead on.”
“Oh you must take a mask, darling. They are all the rage. Makes everyone suspect you are going to an assignation. No self-respecting female would be caught dead without one.”
“I only have a black sequined butterfly mask. It’s more suitable for evening wear.”
“It will be perfect. The fashions are outrageous. You’ll need a mask to hide your blushes.”
As the dowager ’s carriage made its torturously slow way along the overcrowded Strand, Velvet was entranced at the changes she saw. People laughed, jostled each other, exchanged pithy insults and then laughed again. The street scenes that once had seemed painted in drab black and white were now ablaze with color, from the fantastic shop signs to the vivid garments of the males and females who paraded about.
Inside the Exchange, the stalls had been transformed. Everything imaginable was being offered, imported from foreign ports across the sea. Christian was in seventh heaven buying satin slippers and kid boots. “I must have these pattens. They lift your feet above the sewage that runs in the kennels.”